


It Isn't Over (Not Yet, Not Yet)

by ilfirin_estel



Category: Lost
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Ghost!Jack, Ghost!Jacob, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post The End, Threesome - F/M/M, Weird dream sequences
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilfirin_estel/pseuds/ilfirin_estel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Jacob are ghosts on the Island building the sideways!world. Kate visits them in dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. But Not Yet, Not Yet

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this first fic for a prompt in the Non-Canon Couple Ficathon hosted over on [livejournal](http://cloudytea.livejournal.com/108579.html?thread=642595#t642595). The prompt was Jacob/Kate – _I never wanted this kind of responsibility._ Then I joined the (sadly now inactive) LJ comm [lost-in-108](http://lost-in-108.livejournal.com/) and it turned into a 'verse.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is dreaming, she must be, there’s no other way she would be here.

She is dreaming, she must be, there’s no other way she would be here. Her eyes are opened and she sees the great expanse of blue—a sky untouched by modernity, save when a wayward plane burns through. There is sand at her back, sticking to her skin in a way that she told herself she didn’t miss. Who would miss something that irritating? They’re right when they say it gets everywhere. For weeks after they’d touched down in LAX, she’d find grains of it stubbornly hiding in the folds of her clothes, the insides of her boots. It seemed like it would never go away.

Sometimes she thinks the Island will never go away either, not from her mind, not from her memory. It weighs heavy on both her and Claire as they try to fit together all the broken pieces of their lives. She dreams of it in bright flashes of color. The lush green jungle, the beige sand, the red and orange mangos, the rainbow scaled fish. The jagged brown cliffs where Jacob’s ladder hung, where she shot the creature wearing John Locke’s face with vicious satisfaction. She hopes his bones are still there, that he was left to rot under an unforgiving sun.

She is dreaming. She turns her head away from the sky, and sees the back of Taweret, looming impossibly high. What lies in the shadow of the statue? Apparently Kate Austen. She scrambles to her feet, brushing herself off, thinking about running, running toward the statue, thinking maybe, maybe Jack will be there.

Jack. It hurts to think about Jack. His ghost walks her house in LA. Sometimes she sees him in the lines of Claire’s face. In Aaron’s smile. Jack.

“Hello, Kate,” she hears behind her, but it’s the wrong voice. There’s calculation, something measured, slow, ageless. Jacob. She turns and takes him in. He stares up at her from his cross-legged position on a slab of driftwood, calm and casual. It angers her, the sight of him with his messy blonde hair, that plain button down, dark pants, and bare feet. It’s wrong. The only thing that saves him from the venom she feels creeping across her tongue is the apology she sees in his blue eyes.

“Jacob,” she says in greeting, swallowing hard against grief. There is space next to him, but she stays where she is, suddenly chilled. “Why are you here?”

Jacob’s mouth stays straight, but his eyes (why can’t they be the hazel she misses?) glint with what could be something of a smile. “A woman once told me that there was nothing out there beyond the sea. Sometimes I still think she’s right.”

Kate doesn’t know how to respond, so she chooses to ignore the cryptic bullshit. “Where is Jack?”

Jacob shifts, gaze flickering sideways, hands curling around a bottle of what looks like wine. Sand clings to his fingers as he tugs the cork out of the neck, tips the bottle, takes a long swig. She waits for an answer that doesn’t seem to be coming. She tries to repeat the question, but what comes out instead is, “Why am I here?”

It’s a stupid question—she knows why she’s here. She knows why she dreams about this place. She’s looking for _him_ , worrying about him, picturing his broken body splayed out across the sand as he watched their plane arch through the clear sky. She thinks about how he stood in front of her, exhausted and soaked to the bone, clutching his side and swaying toward her.

 _Tell me I’m going to see you again,_ she’d said when she should have said, _I will see you again._ He was so cold as she’d clung to him in that final goodbye. Jack. She closes her eyes, trying to preserve that memory, his earnest, boyish smile burned into her eyelids. Jack.

Hands cup her face, fingers rough with calluses, and for just one second she feels a flash of hope so bright and warm in her, but it is Jacob’s voice in her ears, murmuring confessions. His thumbs brush away her tears.

“I’m at a loss,” he says, and the words are desolate things coming from his smooth, unwavering voice. “I have no purpose, after centuries. I don’t know what to do or what I want or where to go. I don’t know how to move on. I don’t know anything beyond this place. I called you back here because you are the only one who will answer. The only one who would come back.”

He kisses her then, and the shock of it freezes her. His lips still convey meaning; she tastes it as he slides his tongue past her teeth, licking into her mouth. She tastes salt and wine, loneliness and gratitude, desire and sadness. There’s a shifting inside of her, something that recognizes him, gives him room. She keeps her eyes shut and _lets_ him, lets him gently cradle her.

He’s tentative, fingers trembling as they splay across her shoulder-blades. She allows it. She recognizes the need in him. She tells herself it’s not a betrayal, it’s a gift from one lost soul to another.

He tears himself away as if burned, breathing heavy and eyes wide. She’s shaken him, maybe even broken him a little. She guesses it’s sad that she’s used to that. She shivers, cold even though the sun beats down against her back. She looks at Jacob, the other-worldly being that she can’t even really truly begin to understand. She’ll hurt him—she can’t do anything else.

“I come back for him,” she tells him, reaching up and brushing blonde hair out of his face like she would Aaron. “I can’t be what you need. I don’t want to.” She steps back from him and crosses the beach to the edge of the jungle, feeling his eyes following.

“Kate,” he calls, apologies and understanding inside the syllable of her name. “You will see him again.”

She doesn’t turn around, but she does smile, warm and real. “I know,” she calls back. “I know.”


	2. After the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can’t stop her from running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #69: run.

He watches her run. She searches for him in dreams, chasing futile memories through the jungle, calling out his name.

He hates that he can’t go to her, can’t tell her _I’m here, I love you, see you soon._ He wants to catch her before she trips over something, wants to hold her in his arms, tell her he’ll make things right again.

But dead is dead, and he’s the ghost of a man of science&faith. All that is left of his energy or soul goes to building their afterlife. Their meeting place.

He can’t stop her from running. But he can give her something to run to.


	3. It Isn't Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re building a room with a world growing inside it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #73: light.

Jacob says it only ends once—it hasn’t ended, not yet, not yet.

They’re building a room with a world growing inside it. It asks for everything he has left, so he  
gives. Jacob says the fire inside him shines brightest when he has a purpose; Jack believes it, knows this is his destiny.

In this room, they are creators and masters of their own fate. They shape and manipulate  
a wrinkle in the fabric of time, a gateway to beyond.

Her words become tangible things—threads under his fingertips.

_Tell me I’ll see you again._

Jack closes his eyes  
                                     
                                    and lets the light stream through his hands.


	4. Here is the Tabernacle Reconstructed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once someone sees the truth: he is a man, not a god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #76: follow.

They know each other; they shared the cup, made the covenant. Jack accepts it with grace—Jacob is thrown off guard.

For once someone sees the truth: he is a man, not a god. He lived, breathed, ate, slept, dreamed. He has desires; he has fears.

He has been broken ever since his brother’s blood stained his hands.

In death, Jack takes those hands and gives him meaning and purpose.

Together, they build a new world. Jacob chokes on the fear of being left behind.

But the day finally comes and Jack stands before him, light spilling around them both.

Jack smiles and says to him, “Follow me.”


	5. Just a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She tells him, _you don’t have to be anyone’s god._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Non-Canon Couple Ficathon [prompt](http://cloudytea.livejournal.com/108579.html?thread=669987#t669987): Jacob/Kate, _the strangeness of human contact._

He is dead, she is alive, and they are literally living in a dream. What they have shouldn’t work, it shouldn’t be possible, but when she is in his arms, he feels present in a way that he doesn’t ever remember feeling. Not in a very long time.

She is not his first love, but she is something different, someone who doesn’t look at him with awe, someone who doesn’t treat him with reverence. She doesn’t tell him, _you saved me, you are everything to me now._

She touches him like he’s human, like they are equals, like he is just as broken as she is.

It feels strange—it feels _true._

It feels like he is healing. It feels like he is almost whole.

She tells him, _you are just a man, you don’t have to be anyone’s god._  
She tells him, _you don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders anymore._

She tells him, _your work is done, but you are not useless._

And he believes her.


	6. Build Me a City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A world that grows and changes and can stand on its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #77: twist.

The room is threads of light and memory shifting and coming together under their hands. It is familiar work for Jacob—he tied these lives together before. The pattern of this infant world is similar.

Jack’s work comes naturally; with surgical precision, he takes what Jacob has made and stitches something living, breathing, a world that grows and changes and can stand on its own.

 _I couldn’t do this without you,_ Jack says, hands deep inside a wall, twisting and pushing the pieces into place on instinct.

Jacob’s smile is bleak.

Even in death, Jack still doesn’t believe Jacob when he says _you’ve always had what it takes._


	7. This Dream Going On with All of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tries to be what they need.

It begins the same way with both of them. A hand against Jacob’s face and the word murmured  
against his mouth: _please._ They ask for him; he opens up and lays his body down.

He tries to be what they need. He gives himself to Jack in the light of the tabernacle.  
He gives himself to Kate in the shadow of the statue. He doesn’t ask for their love because he is  
afraid that it belongs only to each other.

Each asks after the other, knowing that he sees both of them. And they fare the same, both  
a little more worn around the edges as each illusion of a day passes by.

He thinks about bringing them together again, about prying Jack’s hands away from their tools  
and laying his exhausted spirit down next to Kate on the shore. He thinks about Kate’s fading  
smile and the dying fire in Jack’s eyes, thinks about how their bodies would fit together perfectly  
without him in between.

He tries not to think of himself as a replacement. He tries not to think of himself as a ghost  
in the place of another ghost.

When they are stretched out before him, there are crosses of shadow and light painted  
on their skin. He is selfishly comforted when it is his name only that falls from their lips as  
he presses his mouth to every one.

_Please._

Sometimes he thinks he’s dreaming like Kate is, living inside something he cannot hold on to  
forever. Sometimes he thinks he’s stretching himself too far like Jack is, pushing himself in to  
something that drains away the light inside him until he has nothing left.

When they touch him, he doesn’t speak. He’s too afraid of what he will say, what he might ask  
for. He gives everything he can, tries to fill up the empty spaces in their souls. Tells himself  
it’s enough, he’s enough, though he doesn’t believe it. It’s the same old story—  
this was never meant for him.

Still, Jacob takes what they give. He takes what they give even though he thinks they will  
break him. And the day after they both lay him down and take him apart with gentle hands,  
the day after they pull the confession from the dark corner of his secrets, they wake up  
and return to him the words _I love you._

He can’t keep them from each other anymore.

Jacob takes Jack’s hands in his, tells him _let’s take the day off._ Tells him, _let’s go to the statue,  
please, follow me._

Their reunion is beautiful. Full of tears and _I missed you_ and _I love you._ They fit together  
just as perfectly as he imagined they would. He doesn’t say anything, just walks along  
the shoreline until he cannot hear their words, until he is no longer intruding upon their moment.

The water laps at his feet, the sound of the waves attempting to soothe, but serving only  
to remind him that he is what he has always been—strange and alone, a puzzle piece  
unable to fit.

_Please,_ he whispers, closing his eyes against the ache of loss. _Please, let them be happy, let them  
be whole together_.

He resigns himself to it—to finishing building their world and watching them walk into the light,  
leaving him behind. Until that end, he will endure in silence. The past will be enough.  
It will have to be enough.

He hears them approach. It is their move, their decision though he knows they will set him aside  
now that they have each other again. He keeps his eyes shut. He waits for one of them to speak.

They come in close; he goes still though his mind screams denial and avoidance of inevitable  
pain. The words will hurt even if spoken by a soft tongue.

He inhales sharply when they touch him.

Jack’s hand presses against his shoulder, lips against the back of his neck. Kate’s hand presses  
against his cheek, lips against his mouth. He hardly dares to believe it as his name falls  
from their lips.

Jack asks the question, _is this what you want?_  
Kate speaks just after him, _because this is what we want._

And it breaks him. How beautiful they are when they open him up and lay his body down.

This is how they begin—the word murmured from his lips.

_Please._


	8. A Litany of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of this feels wrong to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Non-Canon Couple Ficathon [prompt](http://cloudytea.livejournal.com/108579.html?thread=614947#t614947): Jacob/Kate, halfway between heaven and hell.

It’s not a black and white situation. It’s not a question of _who do you love_ or _what do you want._ It’s not even about what is real and what is just a simple dream—broken and desperate, Kate came back to the Island, and found a soul-mate in Jacob.

And it’s not about him being a god or a man. It’s not about her being a candidate or a lost cause. It’s not about curing loneliness. It’s not about forgetting grief.

It’s not even about Jack, though Jack is part of it—Jack is a missing piece in the puzzle that they make when they twist together. Jack is not the best part of them, not their mutual better half, but he is still there somehow between them all the same.

Kate doesn’t know what this is; she doesn’t know what loving Jacob means, doesn’t know what it changes. She had thought she’d sworn off triangles, thought she’d sworn to never let this happen again. But it’s different—it’s not about picking sides. She doesn’t trade one ghost for the other.

It’s not about comparisons. Sometimes, though, Jacob smiles and Kate catches a flash of Jack in the curl of his lips or the light of his eyes. Sometimes she sees the same weight on their shoulders, the same lack of faith in themselves.

And sometimes she catches Jack’s scent on Jacob’s skin, his taste in Jacob’s mouth. And she’s a little surprised to find that it doesn’t make her angry or jealous. None of this feels wrong to her.

Except the grief that flickers across Jacob’s face. Kate doesn’t need a cup and covenant to recognize that he has unvoiced fears. She doesn’t know what exactly those fears are, but when she listens to him talk about Jack, she can guess.

It’s the project. Jacob calls it a door to beyond, a tabernacle of Jack’s making—a room stuck halfway between heaven and hell. Purgatory. The place that will take them to the next life. She doesn’t know what to think of the idea, so she just takes it and accepts it at face-value. After all that has happened, it doesn’t feel so crazy to believe in the possibility of the impossible.

She can tell when the work is almost completed by the barely-concealed apprehension that weaves its way through Jacob’s voice.

_It’s yours,_ he says every time, eyes trained to the horizon. She always dreams them onto the beach, sunlight pouring down their backs and waves lapping peacefully at the shore. _Jack is building it for you._

_It is yours too,_ she tells him. Jacob doesn’t answer, but the shadows in his blue eyes say enough.

She doesn’t know how to convince him that they won’t leave him behind.


	9. The Minutes Don't Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He gives, unaware that his body flickers, becoming translucent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #81: catch.

Jack pours energy into the light like blood spilling uncontrolled from a wound. He gives and gives, unaware that his body—the memory of a body—flickers, becoming translucent.

Her voice is in the cacophony of memories, her presence in the unfinished tapestry of souls.  
 _Tell me I’m going to see you again. Tell me I’ll see you again. I’ll see you again, I’ll see you—_

“Jack!”

Jacob catches him, pulls him out before he loses himself in the chaotic, untamed light threatening to swallow him whole. Jacob trembles as he cradles Jack close.

Jack hears his unvoiced plea of love and fear— _please don’t leave without me._


	10. On the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no fear in Jack’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #86: eyes.

There is no fear in Jack’s eyes as the last piece is laid into place. The great work is finished, the doorway before them complete, at last.

Light flows over and through their skin, beckoning, _pass through, pass through._ Like music, like bells calling: _come away, come away._

There is no fear in Jack’s eyes when he turns to Jacob with a soft smile. The promise of peace.

Longing and apprehension are caught in Jacob’s blue eyes. “I’ve lived in this world so long,” he says, the beginning of a confession that needs no end. Jack already knows.

He offers his hand. “It’s okay. We’ll go through together.”


	11. This Could Be a City, This Could Be a Graveyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate knows these were more than dreams. This _mattered._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #91: path.

The road splits in two directions. The living cannot linger long with the dead, even in dreams.

Kate knows these were more than dreams. All of this was real. This _mattered._

Jack and Jacob stand before her. She knows without a word from either; their faces tell the news. They are leaving her, disappearing into the world they built together. The doorway to the next life.

She reaches for them, pleading, _let me go with you._ They come forward, and she is caught, pulled close between them.

Jacob tells her, _we love you._ Jack tells her, _this is not goodbye forever._

Kate wakes up in LA.

Alive. Alone.


	12. The Gold Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is only the beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #92: home.

It only ends once. This is only the beginning of the end.

Jack stands hand-in-hand with Jacob in front of the door, light flowing over and beneath their feet in waves. Just one last step before they fall together into the world they built. It calls them on, calls them home.

Jack doesn’t know what’ll happen. They built the foundations, but it lives, it breathes on its own. Jack doesn’t know what awaits them—except that they’ll find each other. They’ll find Kate. This isn’t goodbye forever. It can’t be.

“I love you,” Jack tells Jacob before they step forward—and Jack lets go.

He falls. He _forgets._


	13. My Heart Stumbles On Things I Don't Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob wakes up in an airport on a bench in the baggage claim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #83: throw.

Jacob doesn’t forget. Not one second. He’s almost grateful. Jumping over the edge didn’t mean throwing anything away.

And yet.

He wakes up in an airport on a bench in the baggage claim. He’s wearing a suit (he hasn’t worn one since Sun and Jin’s wedding), and he’s alone. Jack is nowhere to be found. Fear is a jagged splinter in his chest. It’s a new world, a new life—he doesn’t know what happens next.

A man steps up to him out of the crowd. His blue eyes are bright, smile warm. Laughing joyfully, he pulls Jacob to his feet and embraces him. “Hello, brother. Welcome home.”


	14. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I remember the Island too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #95: under.

Esau drives them to their apartment, sits Jacob down, and says, “I remember the Island too.”

It hits Jacob all at once—the memories easy to recover in spite of the centuries between then and now. The Senet board, the standoff, Mother’s death, the river & the Light. Throwing Esau down into the Heart, watching a monster rise and walk around in his flesh.

The memories pull him under; Esau’s hands upon his face bring him back.

Jacob clutches at his brother’s shoulders, his hands shaking, his throat raw. “Brother, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Esau presses a gentle kiss to Jacob’s forehead and says, “I forgive you.”


	15. I Cover My Eyes Still All I See is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry, Jacob."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #98: numbers.

Jacob stares at the numbers scrawled on the piece of paper until they bleed together in a blur. He cradles the phone in his hands; he knows the sequences, how to string them together, how to find _their_ voices over the line, and yet…

“I’m sorry, Jacob,” Esau says, quiet. Jacob just nods, closes his eyes, remembers—

Jack weaved through the crowded sidewalk, focused on the path, focused on nothing but his destination. Jacob called out, stepped in the way, _Jack, love, love—_

Jack glanced up briefly with no recognition. Sidestepped and walked on. Away.

Kate will be the same. Jacob knows now the Light took them both.


	16. Won't Go Home Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both hear the words— _not yet, not yet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 108 words for prompt #99: warning.

Jack and Kate meet on a plane. She doesn’t wear handcuffs. He doesn’t need to fix anyone. The plane doesn’t crash.

The two of them share the brief conversation of strangers that expect to never see each other again. There’s a spark— _you seem familiar, have we met before?_ But there’s a warning bell in Jack‘s head. The words are unspoken.

There’s a funeral. There’s a concert. There’s a man named Desmond who brings everyone together.

Jack and Kate hold hands in the church. The Light washes over them, but they both hear the words— _not yet, not yet._

Someone’s still missing, and they won’t leave him behind.


	17. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s the one who makes the call.

This is what Esau knows—Jacob isn’t whole. Something is broken in Jacob, something Esau isn’t sure he can fix. There’s too much history in the fracture, too much that Esau simply doesn’t know.

The last thing he remembers prior to this new life is being devoured by Darkness. He has started piecing together the aftermath of his death in the fragmented confessions Jacob has given. _A monster walked in your flesh,_ Jacob told him. _I lost count of the years I spent trying to keep it contained. I had to protect the Light._

The Light, the Light. Esau remembers it, remembers the fierce rush cracking his body apart, the shadows bleeding in. The agonizing split of the soul from the flesh. He looks at his hands, his skin, his flesh given back—and he wonders. Wonders what the Monster did when it walked with his form. Sometimes he wonders if there are traces of it still in his bones even here, even in this afterlife. But mostly he wonders what it was like for Jacob to have Darkness as his constant companion while centuries dragged on unnumbered.

He doesn’t ask—it’s too big, too important to push. Jacob will talk of it in his own time. Still, it’s unsettling to Esau that there are parts of Jacob that are unfamiliar. Once, he knew everything about Jacob, knew him almost down to the atoms. He knew the language of Jacob; he could read words written in the lines of his body, whole paragraphs in a glance, a smile, a sigh. Now Esau is no longer fluent—there are too many years like torn pages and smudged ink sentences. There are whole chapters scrawled by the drunken hands of cruel gods.

It will take time to gather the pieces and put the puzzle back together. There’s still a rift between them though forgiveness healed the hurt. They have time. They have time and a whole world at their fingertips. They aren’t confined to a patch of land in an ocean, and that fact fills Esau with joy and hope for the future.

Except in moments like this: when Jacob is slumped over the kitchen table with that sheet of paper crumpled in his hands. “I can’t,” he says, pressing his forehead into the wood, and Esau knows what this is, knows that there are phone numbers and two names on that paper. This is grief for the lovers lost… or perhaps just out of reach.

“They don’t remember me,” Jacob continues, and Esau hates the despair in his voice. Hates that there’s nothing he can do to make it go away. He doesn’t know why Jack and Kate don’t remember Jacob—why none of the people Jacob says are from the Island remember the life before this one.

There was once a time when Esau was all that Jacob needed. That time has long passed. Jacob needs others, needs these other people. It hurts that Esau can’t give Jacob what he needs, but there’s no use dwelling on it. He has to do what he can to fix his brother.

“It’ll be all right, Jacob,” he says because there’s nothing else he can say. “It’ll be all right.”

He’s the one who makes the call. Jacob leaves for work, and Esau doesn’t know where the paper is, but decides that doesn’t matter. He pulls out the phone book and searches for Shephard. There are multiple entries, but he goes down the list in the hopes that he’ll make a breakthrough.

It feels like a vain effort until he gets to the fourth name.

“Hello, is this Jack Shephard? Yes, hi, my name’s Esau—”

“Wait,” the man on the other line says. “Wait. Are you…” There’s a pause where the man lets out this breathless, nervous-sounding laugh. “Do you have a brother named Jacob, by any chance?”

Esau bites his lip to stop from smiling. To stop himself from jumping to a too-early conclusion. “Yes. Do you know a Kate Austen?”

“Yes, I—hold on, sorry, hold on.” Fumbling sounds and then, at a distance, “Kate! Kate, _Kate,_ we found him, we found him…”

Esau listens to them laughing and rejoicing, and thinks he can believe his own words now—everything really is going to be all right.


End file.
